Fairy Tales in a Faery World
by Child of Mars
Summary: Rumplestiltskin has always been a storyteller. What else can you do, when you know so much and can't really communicate normally with anybody? Except his grandson has become annoyingly attached to his stories. Just a bonding moment between Rumplestiltskin and Henry, set post-tv series when everyone makes it back to the Enchanted Forest and lives happily ever after. (of course)


_**Author's Note: Credit for the mangled background image cover above goes to ~Ahyicodae on Deviantart, titled, "Firebird".**_

**Fairy Tales in a Faery World**

_Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a powerful magician with a heart as black and empty as the bottom of the deepest, darkest pit in the land, as hard as obsidian found in the bottomless, lonely depths of the ocean, as cold as the grey ashes that blew across the snowy wastes of a winter field. The magician loved no one and no one loved him, and he told himself that was fine. He had a son, a baby that came to him long ago when he was a different man who had a living heart that was warm and beat and felt love's glow. And the dark magician would tell him stories, stories about great heroes and wondrous magic and breathless beauty._

_The magician made a deal and broke it and his son paid the price. He was lost between worlds. The magician realized that loving no one and being unloved was not fine. He went on a great quest that was not great at all, for it spread only shame and suffering and anger throughout the land, throughout time. But finally, the magician gathered enough power to journey between worlds and find his child. And he found him. But his son could not live with the black heart anymore, the black heart that had made him pay for his father's mistakes. He would not come back._

_Until the day came when the magician fought a great battle for the sake of those he had come to love. He took his obsidian heart and broke it and caught the light in its black depths, watching the broken pieces shiver and melt. And it became a real heart again, warm and red and alive, like the heart of that different man who'd had a baby to love. And the magician lost so much of his power…he was made weak. But it was worth the price, because he had a heart again, a heart that could love. And his son came to him and took him home, along with all those who had suffered because of the magician's quest. And the magician's son also had a son, a boy who could look into souls and minds and touch the goodness of a person, bringing their hearts to life again. And the magician would tell him stories, stories about great heroes and wondrous magic and breathless beauty._

Henry pushed open the heavy oaken doors that led out to the garden terrace at what was once called the Dark Castle. A gentle breeze brushed his face and he squinted against the evening sunlight; soft, white beams that spilled against his eyes and tumbled down the front of his leather jerkin. They were still warm enough to make his skin crawl pleasantly after the abrupt change from the cold corridors inside.

Several steps away, he could see Rumplestiltskin leaning against the stone ballustrade that looked over the extensive garden grounds a few feet below. It was late summer, and the orchards beyond glowed with blooming flowers and swollen fruit buds.

The former Dark One was dressed in leather pants and boots that were lace-ups rather than pull-offs, probably to spare the ankle he could no longer sustain with magic. He wore a red waistcoat, the kind his true love was so fond of, and underneath, a beige shirt with ballooning sleeves. He looked like a strange mix between a gentlmen and a painter from Henry's birth-world. It was the same kind of clothing the Dark One wore back in the days when he posessed all he desired and played with innocent beings as if they were his toys.

But the brown hair tinged with silver that spilled over his collar and the ebony cane that leaned against the stone balcony told Henry it was not the ageless Dark One. It was Rumplestiltskin, his distant, irritatable but indisputable grandfather.

"Henry," he said suddenly, without turning around.

Henry glanced down at the paved stones; he was positive he hadn't stepped on a dead leaf or anything else that could alert the man to his presence.

"What's on your mind?" Rumplestiltskin still didn't look at him and his tone was anything but inviting but, Henry realized with an agreeable feeling of reassurance, his words held an unexpressed interest, even concern.

He smiled a little and came up beside his grandfather, crossing his arms and leaning on the balcony, resting his chin on them. "Emma's cooking dinner tonight."

Rumplestiltskin still looked off into the distance, but he smiled sardonically. "Your mother is attempting to conquer our old-fashioned kitchens once more? What enemies are you inviting over for their demise?"

"No enemies," Henry said peaceably, "just you and Grandpa and Grandma and Cinderella and her Prince Charming."

Rumplestiltskin grimaced. _Oh joy._ "You know he does have a name."

"I know. But that's how I always knew him in the Book. I'm just used to it, I guess. He doesn't mind, and it makes Cinderella laugh."

Rumplestiltskin wondered how Henry could joke about people _laughing_ at him. "But," he turned, leaning sideways on the ballustrade so he could look at Henry as he raised a knowing, triumphant finger at him, "that's not the only reason you came here."

Henry stared back at him a moment, his small face nervous. Then, he swallowed and his eyes shifted downwards. "I still get nightmares. About the Last Battle."

The finger dropped and a strangely solemn yet sad look stole over Rumplestiltskin's face, an honest _I-don't-know-what-to-say _face. But he knew he had to say _something_. He shouldn't care, shouldn't give a dragon's ear what bad dreams were plaguing the grandson who always came over and bothered him despite never being invited. But he did care. Which just showed how old he was getting.

"Have you told your father?"

Henry blinked; fear and pain lurked behind his eyes like demons in the shadows, in a face that was far, far too young for demons, "at first I did. But I can't…I don't want him to sit with me every night, I don't want him to think I'm a baby."

"Henry," Rumplestiltskin said earnestly, searching Henry's face and wondering what other absurd concerns plagued this poor boy, "your father would _never_ thinks that…all he wants is to help you…to be with you whenever you need him."

Strange how those words echoed in his soul, somehow. Henry looked up at him sharply, as if the same thought had crossed his mind. "Do you have nightmares?"

Rumplestiltskin straightened sharply and turned to stare at the garden again, as if he was afraid of revealing too much if he looked into the boy's piercing eyes. But there was no shame in admitting what had to be obvious to any perceptive adult. He had been the _Dark One_, for pity's sake. He rubbed his thumb over the rough surface of the stone, reminding himself how hard and solid and real it was compared to the visions that clutched at his head and heart every night, the terrible, horrible dreams he was about to hint at. But he kept his face calm, reflective, and his voice just above a soft whisper as if he was telling a story. Did he have nightmares? "All the time."

But wait, Henry needed more than a fellow victim. He needed a solution, reassurance, advice. Rumplestiltskin looked down at him again, not quite able to smile but trying his best to at least look friendly, "that's why I've got Belle."

Henry's face brightened; he understood. "Just like I've got Dad. And Emma."

"That's right," Rumplestiltskin leaned against the balcony with a contented air, ready to sink back into contemplative silence as Henry tired of his uninviting company and scurried off.

But there was no sound of Henry's boots hitting the flagstones. The impossible child was still there.

"Do you like me, grandpa?"

At the unexpected question and the unfamiliar title, Rumplestiltskin's eyes widened of their own accord. However that was all the shock he would allow himself to show before he slowly turned to give Henry a stern glare. "Not at the moment, no."

Henry smiled; that irritating look when he could see right through you and was amused by your deception. A look worthy of Rumplestiltskin, the word trickster and bargain maker. "Then why'd you save my life even though I took your power away?"

Luckily, Rumplestiltskin's quick mind had an answer for that one ready in an instant. "Because you did me a favor when you undid my curse, even if I didn't then and probably never will appreciate it in that way," he grumbled, his mind involuntarily regretting lost power and skill that he still missed so badly, like another cane to lean on.

Henry just smiled again, infuriatingly. Then he held his head at an angle like a begging puppy. Rumplestiltskin knew exactly what he was going to ask for before the third word was out of the boy's mouth. "Can I have another story?"

"No." _That's final. No more. You come here asking questions and laying your problems on me and acting as if you're so very knowleadgable…I'm not telling you a story just to debase myself and amuse __**you**__ for a torturous hour or so._

"But you didn't finish the last one, about how you tamed the firebirds."

Without thinking about it, Rumplestiltskin reached out and picked a leaf out of Henry's hair. Amazing how such short brown locks could attract so much foliage. Maybe he'd been jumping in the leaves under the elm trees that lined the entrance to the Dark Castle. "You know, we _are_ in the Enchanted Forests…nothing's stopping you from finding the firebirds yourself," he said mockingly.

Of course, the discouragement passed right through Henry like an arrow through a spirit. "Well unless I know how _you_ did it, how am I supposed to?" How infuriatingly reasonable. "_Please_, grandpa?"

Impossible child. The wheedling look, the winning smile, should have annoyed Rumplestiltskin enough to verbally explode at Henry and storm inside. But instead, he felt…tickled? Flattered? …Affectionate?

Rumplestiltskin spent another moment desperately searching for more excuses. "Doesn't your mother want you or something?"

"She's in the _kitchen_, Grandpa," Henry stressed knowingly. "Besides, you never finished it…" he persisted and then, struck by an idea, he inched closer in a familiar way that made Rumplestiltskin watch him closely, both curious and a little suspicious. "And I'm pretty sure Mom _and_ Dad want me to spend more time with _you_. They want you to come out of your Dark Castle once in a while."

How could he say ridiculous, embarassing things like that? How could he even think them? Rumplestiltskin couldn't imagine vocalizing concern like that for anyone, let alone _showing_ it…except of course for that one special, special person in his life...or two...or three, perhaps. "Well, that's very touching and family-like but…"

"_Grandma_ told me I'd find you here…" Henry smiled with that smile that always said he'd won. It was disturbingly similar to his other grandfather's. Far, far too charming for its own good. Rumplestiltskin gave him a final, forbidding glare, but of course it didn't scare the boy. He was still waiting for Rumplestiltskin to tell him the story. And _Belle_ wanted him to do it.

Resigned, he tapped his fingers on the wall top a moment. "Very well," he straightened up and turned towards the stairs that led down to the garden, "but let's walk as I talk, so to speak."

Henry grinned and bounced beside him, leaping down the stairs two at a time. He reached the bottom with a heavy thump and turned patiently as Rumplestiltskin made his way down with slower, more delicate steps.

"I know why you want to walk," Henry said suddenly.

Still intent on the stairs, Rumplestiltskin kept his gaze downwards as he replied, "oh, why is that then?"

"You don't want anyone to see you telling me a story."

Blast his grandchild's frightening perception. "Bae…Henry," Rumplestiltskin barked exasperatedly, fumbling over his mistake. Stopping at the foot of the stairs he looked at the child, summoning patience. Then, regaining his composure, he gave Henry a thin, knowing smile as he pointed at him, "and you, I'm sure, don't want to attend any more political lectures with your grandfather."

Henry's face flashed surprise; but really, the boy shouldn't question Rumplestiltskin's habitual omnipotence…after all, it was something they both seemed to share. Henry, true to his sweet, forgiving self, just smiled brilliantly up at him, sheepishly accepting the truth of what he said yet also inexplicably certain his grandfather wouldn't turn him in.

Presumptious child.

Rumplestiltskin looked up with a sigh and begin to limp along the garden path between the rose-hedges, loping easily with his cane as his mind went back more than a hundred years, to a magical, glowing forest as orange as the sun, where flying birds of gold shimmered as they circled overhead. "Once upon a time, a long, long time ago…"

A little hand suddenly slipped into his.

"There was a powerful magician,"

Rumplestiltskin's limp didn't break stride as he returned pressure, squeezing the little hand in a friendly, _(loving)_ way.

_And the magician would tell him stories, stories about great heroes and wondrous magic and breathless beauty._

As the evening sunlight shed the last of its warmth on his face and the hand resting so trustingly in his warmed his heart, Rumplestiltskin remembered another little boy, holding his hand as he limped along, listening to his stories. But this was not Baelfire; this was his _grandson_, Henry. Not his father…but holding a place in Rumplestiltskin's heart all the same, a place he had taken without permission, without Rumplestiltskin knowing it, just as Belle had. Yet Rumplestiltskin loved him no less for that.

Henry smiled up at him with brown eyes that glowed from an eager face.

And Rumplestiltskin smiled back.

FINIS


End file.
